Breast Cancer Diary

Breast Cancer Diary

The night I was diagnosed, I couldn’t sleep. At 4 A.M., I sent my boyfriend, John, to the drugstore for some medicine to calm my upset stomach. While he was gone, I saw my camera sitting on the bedside table and had an overwhelming urge to take pictures. I started snapping self-portraits, and when John got back, he took some more. I was feeling such a swirl of emotions—I wanted a way to remember them even though I didn’t know how things were going to turn out.

I was in a super-good mood the morning of my first chemotherapy. I figured the sooner I got my treatment started, the sooner I’d beat cancer. The side effects didn’t hit me until the following afternoon.

My family gathered at my house in La Jolla, California, to celebrate Christmas. I wanted to give my parents a family portrait, so a few days before the holiday, I asked my friend Christine, a professional photographer, to come down to the beach and take pictures of us. I wanted it before I lost my hair. John snapped this photo over Christine’s shoulder.

Because I was young and healthy, the doctors felt I was strong enough to get chemo on an accelerated schedule. Instead of going once a month, like most people, I’d get it every two weeks. Each session took about four hours. Napping helped pass the time.

I woke up Christmas morning to find my hair falling out in chunks. I knew it would happen, but it was still gross and awful to find strands all over the pillow. When I came downstairs, my sister popped this elf hat on my head and we all wore silly hats all day. My family had flown out to spend Christmas with me in California. We’d vowed to make it a good day, but after opening presents and having breakfast, John and I stepped out onto the balcony and I cried.

This was one of the first times I bared my bald head in public. I was feeling really crappy, and John tried to distract me by taking me to watch his brother’s bike race. John noticed I was sweating and uncomfortable, and made me take my beanie off. No one ever said anything mean to me about my lack of hair. Instead, many former cancer patients would approach me to say that they had made it through chemo, and so would I.

In the days leading up to my mastectomy, I was a hysterical mess. I was having major doubts, and I worried that I hadn’t really thought things through. John managed to get me an appointment with another doctor for a second opinion. He, too, said a double mastectomy was the best way to ensure that my cancer wouldn’t come back, so the day before my surgery, I forced myself to get ahold of my emotions. Here I am, kissing John just before the surgery.

Last year, my friend Sarah joined her mom in the Susan G. Komen Three-Day Walk for Breast Cancer. We were all like, “Sarah, why would you do it? It sounds awful!” This year, 13 of us are doing it. It’s a cool way for us to come together and do something positive to fight breast cancer. If you want to sponsor my team, click www.therackpack.org.

In mid-June, John, my friends and I—here you see, from left, Nicole, John, me, Chrissy and Christine—held a launch party for fightalli.org. It started as a way to help me raise money to cover my out-of-pocket medical expenses (currently about $10,000). And we’re hoping to expand so we can help other women with breast cancer who have financial need. FightAlli’s logo is a girl with angel wings, so everyone dressed in white and called themselves Alli’s Angels.

Until I get my final reconstructive surgeries this fall, my breasts are saline-filled expanders, which were inserted under the muscle after my mastectomy. The weirdest part is the lack of nipples, but they look good enough in a bikini, so I didn’t hesitate to wear one while on a recuperative retreat in Hawaii. When I got back, I still had major decisions to make about things like hormone therapy—which could keep the cancer from coming back but would also bring on menopause. I also started thinking about returning to my normal life. I’m going to take my time deciding what to do next. Even before I got cancer, I had a nagging feeling that I was meant for something different in life. Now I want to figure out what that is.